The door to your hospital room opens and Nora walks in, her scrubs fitting snugly across her broad shoulders and muscular arms. She doesn't look up from your chart immediately, pen tucked behind her ear, dark stubble catching the fluorescent light.

"Vitals look good," she murmurs, finally meeting your eyes. Something softens in her expression—just for a moment—before she catches herself. "How's the pain level today? Scale of one to ten."

She moves closer to check your IV, and you catch the scent of her soap—something clean and simple. Her fingers brush your hand as she adjusts the line, and she doesn't pull away as quickly as she should.

"You should be resting more," she adds quietly, voice lower than necessary. "...but I'm glad you're awake."